


What I Have And What I Ache For

by eurydicule



Category: Olympics RPF, Snowboarding RPF
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1333237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydicule/pseuds/eurydicule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during this year's Winter Olympics Men Snowboard Slopestyle Final (surely I got the word order wrong here). Which Shaun chose not to participate in, physically. But that doesn't mean it isn't on his mind. Cue Iouri checking in on him to see if he's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Have And What I Ache For

**Author's Note:**

> Apart from being the worst at coming up with titles (shamelessly stolen from a Röyksopp song) and summarizing, this is also the first time I've written either of these two, still in the experimental phase, so if they come across as completely out of character, I'm sorry. 
> 
> I couldn't and wouldn't have written this without nychthemera. Thank you.

The TV is on, a constant stream of sound loud enough to be audible in the hallway, if only for the people who know what to listen out for. Iouri knows how to listen, his senses possibly sharpened by the funny feeling in his stomach, the feeling triggered by seeing heaps of blue and red and white and stars and stripes scattered all over the place, bunched up sweaters and stickers on doors and the inevitable flag adorning one of the outward windows, tinting the landscape on the other side of the pan into a blueish hue. It is a feeling of not belonging here. He's got no right to be here.

When Shaun opens the door for him, it is with as little sound as hesitation shaping his movements. The door swings open in one fluent motion and his body makes way for Iouri immediately once he's recognized who is knocking at his door, turning the laptop and camera Iouri's ostensibly holding up into unnecessary props. There's no need for pretext, not with Shaun, not now. Mere seconds after his last knock, Iouri is already inside with the door quietly and tightly shut behind him, leaving everything else outside.

Like Iouri knew he would find it to be, Shaun's room is empty except for two suitcases wedged in between the outer wall and a simple armchair; nothing about the place in disarray. The flickering lights of the television paint colourful shadows on the wall and on the pale expanse of Shaun's chest when he settles back down on the bed, eyes not leaving the screen as soon as Iouri had stopped holding his gaze. Iouri settles in on the bed with Shaun, though at a distance, propped up against the headboard, uncaring for the contest, the contestants, the commentators, when Shaun is perched on the very edge of the mattress. For a moment, his mind seems to go over something to say, but the next moment it's gone and, seeing how absolutely absorbed Shaun is, Iouri decides to focus on his work instead.

The first couple of days in Sochi have left him almost delirious with fresh and new and rich impressions, now he starts to try and classify them, transfering the memories turned pictures from his camera to his laptop. It's a steady stream of images and soon Iouri finds himself engrossed in his work, not registering the steady pitter-patter of his fingers on the keyboard, not caring for who's up next, whose run is earning which marks, even forgetting to comment on the almost clinical cleanliness of the room, the pristine smell of fresh sheets and expensive shower gel faintly wavering in the air.

Shaun says nothing, either. But for all the concentration he is pouring into his work, even being as absorbed as he is, Iouri does not fail to recognize a certain tension creeping into Shaun's posture. On first glance nothing changes, his body inert all the while, the TV lights still the only movement flickering across his face, his skin, still casting his shadow on the wall behind him. But the details of the bigger picture are not lost on Iouri. Iouri sees, with the interest of an observer at first and then with the worry of someone who knows what’s going on, the way listlessness pushes against the unmoving surface, frustration and most likely anger directed towards himself coiling around the air of not caring all that much, throttling it. He can see it clearer and clearer with every run down the slopestyle course.

Iouri watches for another moment, fingers hovering over his keyboard, the picture he's been altering for the past few minutes suddenly forgotten. If possible, he sees another one of the muscles in Shaun's back draw up and that's enough for him. He saves the image and sets his laptop aside, before, slowly and deliberately, reaching for the remote control lying next to Shaun. He feels his sweater scratching over Shaun's skin, roughed softness catching in the soft edges. He can smell the expensive shower gel intesified by the warmth of the skin its clinging to now.

Before Parrot pushes down for his second run, the TV goes black.

They stay like this for the split second it takes the world to readjust, for the equilibrium to establish itself in the now quiet room. Iouri had not realized just how steady and loud and oppressing the voices of commentators, the cheering crowd had hung in the air. Now the silence seems even louder in his ears. Shaun does not say anything. Iouri can hear him breathing, can feel through his shirt how the sudden silence fills his ribcage, pushes his shoulders out with every intake of breath, but he stays silent. He does not utter a word of complaint. Iouri can feel him labouring on words, eyes glued to the TV without seeing anything now, but they are not coming.

And then the moment is gone, the notion of proximity catching up and it doesn’t matter.

As silentely and swiftly as he has approached Shaun, Iouri goes back to his place at the other end of the bed now, picking up his laptop as he goes. There are still a lot of pictures waiting for him, but a glance at the bottom right corner tells him that it is time to go, now, before any of his coaches start to get nervous on behalf of his unscheduled disappearance. As the laptop silently shuts down, he looks up, this time not with interest but immediate worry, relieved to find Shaun still unmoving, but not as tense anymore. He’s mirroring the posture he held when he first settled on the bed, a picture perfect display of vagueness, bordering on an amount of calmness enough to ease the unsettling edge of utter stillness. It’s not something Iouri likes to see, but he’ll take it.

Standing up and gathering his things, it is his turn now to grasp for words, not sure of what to say or whether to say anything at all. Rounding the bed, Iouri lifts a hand in a silent goodbye and turns to leave. But at the last moment, the hiss of a sharp intake of breath makes him turn around again, a board shredding solid ice, and Shaun's voice is carrying through the quiet room even though Iouri is standing right in front of him now. Two words, a simple 'thank you', but it doesn't feel so simple and Iouri has been in this long enough to recognise the words for what they really are.

It’s intuitive, the way his hand reaches out, and Iouri can’t help it, instantly knowing that his fingers will smell of expensive shampoo still even when he has left the building. Shorter now, the hair he grasps has lost nothing of its appeal, the same colour he loves and knows how to recreate in fading daylight with the right lense, the same feel to it. It looks affectionate and tells nothing of the mindlessness setting him in motion, not sure whether to give or seek out a little warmth as his fingers slide down over a field of freckles, a set of bones, strong shoulders molded to fit pressure. Again, he doesn’t know what to say and goes for the shallowest thing he can find, a quietness in his mind trying to sober up, to rationalise against the odds, to make this moment smaller than life, not allowing him to get carried away like he wants to, always wants to with Shaun.

"I'll see you at practice later..."

Shaun only nods without listening, hand now resting on the same spot Iouri's fingers have touched only seconds before. And Iouri leaves him to it, leaves him to the silence frost-covering the room like breath in hibernal air. No words lost between them and yet white shadows of spoken words, are everywhere, lingering in every corner of the room.


End file.
